


Sluts of the North

by Llama1412



Series: Families of Choice [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Breathplay, Choking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Geralt is a cock slut, Jaskier is an everything slut, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Teasing, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier’s philosophy: Sex is nice with anyone and everyone willing. If you happen to have feelings for them, it just makes the sex that much better, but pleasure is pleasure and Jaskier likes a good time.Geralt’s philosophy: Sex feels good and people are actually interested in him during it, especially when he doesn’t have to pay them. Trust during sex? What’s that?
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Ermion | Mousesack/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Filavandrel aén Fidháil/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike
Series: Families of Choice [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660492
Comments: 14
Kudos: 90





	1. Mousesack/Geralt

**Author's Note:**

> So this is technically part of the Families of Choice universe, but it's literally just Geralt and Jaskier slutting their way around the continent.
> 
> I was honestly trying to write OT3 bondage porn, and suddenly I had all these thoughts about how Geralt discovered he liked being tied up/pinned down. Also, according to the wiki, Geralt and Mousesack maybe knew each other when they were young? It was very confusing, but the point is - when you're friends that trust each other and don't age, you fuck around when you want to, okay?  
> Set pre-Episode 4

Geralt had come to the Skellige Islands for a contract, at the request of his old friend, Mousesack. Geralt liked when Mousesack brought him contracts – Mousesack knew exactly what he needed to know and left out anything he didn’t (unlike Jaskier, who was determined to share absolutely everything he learned, whether Geralt cared or not). Mousesack had traveled with Geralt for a time when they were both a great deal younger, and he understood what details Geralt needed to set out on a hunt.

This particular monster had been tricky. It had more friends than they were expecting, and as was typical, Geralt ended the fight absolutely drenched in monster guts. His nose was aching, both with the smell and the solid hit one of the monsters had gotten in. His adrenaline was still running high after the near miss with the beasts, and Geralt had an idea of how he could work off the excess energy.

He shot a glance at Mousesack and found the druid already eyeing him. Geralt’s lips pulled up in a half-smirk and Mousesack narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not touching you while you smell like a cesspool.”

Geralt frowned, not looking forward to the wait. They were up in the mountains, and a warm bath would be a long walk away. A long walk in which he still had to smell himself _and_ he couldn’t relieve tension.

Before he could brood over that too much, Geralt was jerked into the present by Mousesack’s fingers wrapping around his wrist. Geralt opened his mouth to ask what the fuck the druid thought he was doing when Mousesack changed direction and led Geralt deeper into the mountain. As Geralt let himself be dragged, he began to hear the sounds of running water.

“Skellige is _cold,”_ Geralt objected, though he did not free his wrist. “That water will be freezing,”

Mousesack snorted. “I am a druid, Geralt, I use elemental magic. If you can’t heat your own water, then I certainly can.”

They came to a concave in the mountainside where a small waterfall was hidden out of sight. Mousesack loosened his hold on Geralt’s wrist, but when Geralt didn’t pull away to duck under the still-definitely-cold water, he suddenly found himself spun around until Mousesack had captured both of his wrists behind his back. The bolt of pleasure through his stomach was as unexpected as the sudden immersion in water, and Geralt felt frozen in place with both.

Mousesack held him under the water for a few moments, leaning back to avoid splashing as much as possible. His position forced Geralt to brace his weight against Mousesack to keep the druid from overbalancing backwards, and yet Geralt felt as if Mousesack was in complete control – choosing when to pull Geralt out of the waterfall to catch his breath, when to release one hand to scrub it surprisingly gently through Geralt’s hair, when to decide that Geralt was clean enough.

Mousesack’s hands tightened around Geralt’s wrist in what would be a bruising grip on a normal man. For the first time, Geralt caught himself idly wishing he was human enough to bruise so that he could be reminded of the way Mousesack’s grip seemed to short wire his thoughts until he was entirely Mousesack’s to command.

Geralt was still deciding whether he liked it or not when Mousesack released him briefly only to throw him against the stone wall behind the waterfall, close enough to the water for droplets to only barely miss them more often than not. Then Mousesack was pressed up against him, pinning Geralt’s wrists to the wall next to his head and sliding a thigh between his. Geralt was surprised to realize he was already achingly hard, and a whine slipped out of his throat before Mousesack stretched up to suck at his lower lip, biting teasingly before pulling back enough to lick into Geralt’s mouth.

Their lips slid together wetly, not at all silencing the sounds Geralt made when Mousesack ground their hips together. “Well, well,” Mousesack drawled, “do you like being pinned down, Geralt? Being unable to do anything accept _feel,”_ he thrust roughly against Geralt. As the coarse, wet fabric of his own trousers dragged over his dick, Geralt’s head fell back against the wall.

Mousesack smirked at him and ducked his head to nip sharply at Geralt’s neck. Mousesack’s beard was soft against his skin, tickling at it and leaving tingling sensations in its wake.

This was far from the first time Geralt had fucked around with Mousesack. They had known each other a long time and had taken care of their needs together many, many times. It was mostly convenience, but Geralt would admit that Mousesack was one of few in this world that he truly trusted.

That trust made the tight grip on his wrist amazingly delicious, rather than the fight reflex he would have expected. If any of his other casual encounters had tried this, he probably would have responded like that. But right now, Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut as Mousesack nibbled on his left nipple and Geralt felt himself incredibly close to coming far, far too soon.

“Mou–” Geralt tried to call out, but the sound garbled in his throat when Mousesack shifted to rub deliciously against him and sucked hard on his nipple at the same time. The world spun out of control and Geralt felt like he was floating and free. He’d never felt quite like this before, but he realized he wanted more of it.

When he came back to himself, his wrists were being held in front of him and Mousesack was brushing his thumb softly over his pulse point. “Back with me?” Mousesack murmured, his voice wonderfully low.

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed. Words seemed even more difficult to form now than they usually did, but Geralt nodded his head and twisted his hands to squeeze Mousesack’s. Mousesack smiled softly at him and freed a hand to brush Geralt’s hair out of his face. The hand slid down to cup his cheek and Geralt felt like he was melting.

“Good?” Mousesack leaned forward to kiss his forehead and Geralt realized the druid was still hard against his leg. 

Geralt threaded his hands through Mousesack’s incredibly soft, dark hair and captured his lips. Mousesack met him eagerly, biting at his lips. Geralt pulled away just enough to pant, “you’re always good.” Mousesack sucked on his upper lip in reward, then moved down to kiss along Geralt’s jaw, allowing him to speak. “You could fuck my mouth,” Geralt offered.

Mousesack cupped his neck and devoured his mouth, fucking in with his tongue the way Geralt wanted his cock. Geralt sucked at his tongue and slowly dropped a hand from Mousesack’s hair to slide down his chest. Geralt’s clothes were still sopping wet and Mousesack’s front where they had been pressed together was damp. It made Geralt fumble his attempt to unfasten the annoying little buttons. Mousesack laughed into their kiss, reaching down to cover and hold Geralt’s hand against his chest. 

“Won’t last long enough for that,” Mousesack drawled in answer. “Just touch me.” He dragged Geralt’s hand down to his belt and Geralt immediately set to getting his pants open.

When he had Mousesack’s cock in his hand, Geralt couldn’t help the way his mouth watered. Geralt loved getting his face fucked, his mouth filled with hot flesh, his nose pressed against rough pubic hair and surrounded with the scent of his lover. It let him forget the world around him and just focus on the moment, on the pleasure.

Mousesack’s cock was lovely, and curved just perfectly enough to fit into his throat the way he liked. Geralt dragged his hand down Mousesack’s cock, feeling it twitch in his hand. Precum was dripping from the head, and Geralt circled his thumb over the top, spreading the slickness and playing with his foreskin. Mousesack was groaning into his mouth, their kiss growing wet and messy. Geralt sucked Mousesack’s bottom lip into his mouth and jacked his hand roughly over Mousesack’s cock.

The precum wasn’t enough to slicken the glide of his fingers, Geralt pulled away for a moment and fumbled at his own pants. They were disgusting – cum-soaked and sticking to him. Geralt ran his hand through the mess and brought it to Mousesack’s dick to ease the way. Mousesack moaned roughly against him, “Fuck, Geralt–” 

Geralt squeezed around the base of his cock, tightened his hand as he drew it towards the tip. Mousesack’s cock was positively leaking precum and Geralt just had to taste it, had to put his mouth on the head and lap it all up. He landed harshly on his knees, but he hardly cared when he was now at the right level to jerk Mousesack forward by his hips and lick around the foreskin. When Geralt had explored to his satisfaction – which meant Mousesack’s voice had dropped even deeper and he was making low groaning noises with every breath – Geralt sucked the head into his mouth and tongued around the hole. He sucked harshly, eagerly, and Mousesack’s fist knotted in his hair. “Geralt–” he warned, as if Geralt wasn’t specifically trying to get him to come on his tongue.

Mousesack fell apart above him, head tilting back with an aborted shout and fingers scrabbling at Geralt’s scalp as he sucked the druid through his climax and kept sucking for just a moment too long. Mousesack’s growl sent a shiver down his spine and Geralt pulled back to lean against the stone wall behind him, a lazy smile on his face. Mousesack slid down to sit next to him, a satisfied look on his face. 

“Next time,” Mousesack murmured, lightly circling Geralt’s wrist with his fingers, “maybe we should try tying you up.”

Geralt would never admit to the sound he made at that. But he did make a note to invest in some good rope.


	2. Filavandrel/Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to penny-anna for this initial idea (or at least, introducing me to it)

The last person Jaskier expected to run into in the outskirts of Mayena was the King of the Elves. Filavandrel still looked as pretty as he had all those years ago, straw colored hair falling around his face, a hood covering his ears. But there was no mistaking who it was. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to call his name before he realized that perhaps calling for the King of Elves so close to Cintran borders was not the wisest move. “Uh, hey.” He said awkwardly.

Filavandrel did not look pleased to see him.

“Enjoying that lute?” He snarled. “After all, you got it from my  _ army of elves.” _

Ah. Right, he probably should have guessed that the elves would have heard  _ Toss a Coin _ , but somehow, that hadn’t occurred to him before. The people whose deeds he’d changed and immortalized in song might hear his songs – and Geralt might not enjoy the White Wolf’s acclaim, but he didn’t care enough to correct Jaskier’s songs.

Others might not feel the same.

Jaskier spread his arms, suddenly very aware of the lute strap digging into his shoulder. “See, you’re thinking that all my song did was hurt your people. And you’re right, maybe I could have handled it better.  _ But _ consider that when people think you have armies, they aren’t looking too closely at a ragged group of refugees, are they?”

Filavandrel frowned at him. “You can’t actually be arguing that your song  _ helped _ us.”

“No,” Jaskier said softly. “What I’m saying is that no malice was intended. Perhaps there is a way I could...recompense you,” Jaskier winked at him and smirked with bedroom eyes. If there was one guaranteed way he reacted to awkward situations, it was with lust.

It was surprising how often that genuinely did get him out of trouble. At least as often as it got him  _ into _ trouble.

Filavandrel scoffed at him and grabbed his collar, pushing him into a tree. Jaskier let himself be moved without complaint. “Well, I usually ask for a tad more wooing, but I could be game for this.”

“Will you shut up?” Filavandrel hissed at him, pressing himself against the tree as if Jaskier was not between them. It was...well, it was actually rather nice, Jaskier thought idly. Who knew the king of elves was so built?

“There’s a patrol of Temerian soldiers coming through,” Filavandrel hissed in his ear, his lips skimming against it. Jaskier shivered. “We’re in the shadows and out of the line of sight from the road. If we stay very quiet, we have a chance of going unnoticed.”

Jaskier was paying attention, he honestly was. It’s just that Filavandrel’s tongue was very close to his ear and his lips kept brushing his skin and Jaskier found it very difficult to care about anything aside from the body pressed against him.

“So,” Jaskier whispered, “about that recompense?”

Filavandrel made a confused sound and tensed when Jaskier’s wiggling brushed his half hard cock against the elf’s thigh. “Really?” There was a thread of disbelief to his voice, but he didn’t sound disgusted.

“Sometimes a little fear of discovery is a good thing.” Jaskier shrugged. “By which I mean I am very loud and you should definitely shut me up.” Even though Filavandrel’s face was pressed next to his head, Jaskier winked. It was the thought that counted, anyway.

“You’re serious,” Filavandrel’s voice sounded less surprised and more...interested? 

Jaskier decided to take a risk and bent his head to kiss the neck in front of him. “I am.” Filavandrel hadn’t moved away, so Jaskier let his teeth graze over the skin, then sucked at it, flicking against it with his tongue.

Filavandrel gave a surprised moan and quickly bit into Jaskier’s shoulder to silence himself. Jaskier couldn’t feel his teeth through his clothing, but the idea that the elf king might be as noisy as himself was appealing.

Especially because they both had to be quiet. “If we can lie down, I can think of a better way to go about this,” Jaskier whispered, sucking on his earlobe. 

“I must be mad,” Filavandrel murmured to himself, but he took a quick look down the road on the other side of the tree from them. “Fine.”

Jaskier grinned and hauled him down into the underbrush, shifting around until they could keep each others’ mouths busy.

He unlaced Filavandrel’s breeches eagerly and buried his face directly in the elf’s crotch without even pulling him out yet. Jaskier breathed in deeply – the deep musky scent was one of his favorite parts about doing this. Well, that and the cock itself. Speaking of – Jaskier nosed into his pants until he came into contact with Filavandrel’s half hard cock. 

Jaskier was committed to teasing him, but when wet heat surrounded his own cock, he decided teasing was overrated and applied himself to his task with enthusiasm. Filavandrel’s cock was thin, but long, and Jaskier usually avoided deepthroating to protect his voice, but with the way Filavandrel’s cock curved just right in his mouth, Jaskier decided there must be exceptions to such things. He swallowed Filavandrel down as far as he could, humming quietly around him and clutching the elf’s hips firmly.

Jaskier could feel the vibrations around his own cock when Filavandrel moaned, and the king of elves really had quite an impressive tongue. Warm pressure circled the head of Jaskier’s cock, playing with his foreskin, and Jaskier suddenly decided that he needed to make Filavandrel come before he did.

All thoughts of the Temerian patrol and going unnoticed fled Jaskier’s mind. All he could think of was the wet heat around his cock, the leaking cock in his own mouth, and the ever more pressing need to come. He sucked furiously around Filavandrel, swallowing with just the head in his throat. Filavandrel whined around his cock and dug his nails into Jaskier’s hips and Jaskier could feel the elf beginning to come down his throat. Feeling triumphant, Jaskier finally let himself go, and came across Filavandrel’s tongue while the elf milked him though it.

Afterwards, they lay there, head to toe in the forest underbrush, breathing harshly. There were few other sounds in the night – not even the clank of a patrol moving by. “So,” Jaskier said.

“So,” Filavandrel responded. The elf huffed a laugh and pulled away to start putting himself back to rights, which Jaskier thought was rather a shame. Still, he sighed and followed the elf’s example, tucking himself back into his trousers and slowly rising to his feet.

“Gotta say,” Jaskier, who had never known how to keep his mouth shut, said, “I enjoyed this meeting much more than our first.”

Filavandrel’s laugh sounded like it was drawn from him without his permission. “Well,” the elf coughed. “I suppose you’re correct.”

Jaskier grinned. “Just think what could happen next time?”

Filavandrel chuckled. “No offense, bard, but I hope I never run into you again.”

They did actually meet several times over the next several years, all completely unplanned and more often than not, ending in sex. Filavandrel always seemed confused about how they ended up in a bed, but Jaskier didn’t mind – the elf’s befuddled face as adorable and he enjoyed kissing it away when given the chance.


	3. Calanthe/Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Calanthe invites the Witcher to her side during the feast, he takes up her invitation to follow her to her quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those reading who aren't familiar with the whole series, the only thing you need to know is that Calanthe and Jaskier are old friends and she calls him Julian.

_ “Come Witcher, Sit by my side while I change.” _

Calanathe was curious to see if he would obey in the way she intended. If he did, she had plans for him. If not, then she could still interrogate him enough to decide if he was worthy of Julian. Win-win.

Geralt of Rivia took her hint and followed her out of the banquet hall. Lovely. She did so prefer when men behaved the way she wanted them to. She led him to her quarters and dismissed the servants waiting to tend to her armor. Geralt stood in the shadows until they left, but there was no doubt he had been seen. Gossip about the Queen and the Witcher would spread in minutes.

Damn. She’d meant to tell Julian herself. After all, he was the one who highly recommended the Witcher. Apparently, he was fantastic with is mouth.

Calanthe intended to find out for herself. She removed the armor protecting her waist and hips to give him free access, but otherwise, she kept the rest of her armor on. She didn’t even stop to wipe the blood from her face.

“Put all that strength to good use, Witcher. I want you to hold me on your shoulders and eat me out. Understood?”

Geralt quirked a half smile, apparently amused by the request, but he knelt down to let her sit on his shoulders. Here she was, wearing an extra 20kgs of armor and still holding her mug of beer from the feast, and the Witcher lifted her without issue, easily straightening and holding her against the wall, his face pressed between her thighs. 

As the Witcher got to work, Calanthe sipped her beer. She’d always wanted to do this, but the strength of normal men was limited. Oh, there were plenty of men who would eagerly go to their knees for her, but that wasn’t the point. The appeal was the  _ strength,  _ the raw power it took to lift a woman in (nearly) full plate armor and for that strength to be used to her whims. She fantasized of that often, and the Witcher was being ever so obliging, immediately dragging his tongue in circles around her clit before diving down to check how wet she was.

Honestly, a lot wetter than she expected to be. The Witcher was quite easy on the eyes, in an eccentric sort of way, and  _ oh,  _ Julian had been right about the Witcher’s tongue. He was indeed skilled with it, thrusting into her and pressing his nose to her clit. Calanthe knotted her hands in his hair – absently apologizing to Julian, who had probably been the one to style it – and rode Geralt’s face. He firmed his tongue and let her use it to thrust against for a few moments before showing off his talent again – doing something with his tongue that made her gasp and simultaneously grinding his nose against her clit. Calanthe threw back her head in satisfaction, her beer now forgotten in her hands. 

Geralt was making small sounds against her, nothing she could hear, but she could  _ feel _ the vibrations,  _ feel  _ the way he freed one of his hands, her leg still over his shoulder, to reach for his own cock. He was getting off on this, getting off on following her commands. Calanthe shuddered, tugging his hair harder. That earned her a groan that vibrated through her. “Suck my clit,” she ordered, and Geralt immediately moved, pressing her thighs wider apart on his shoulders and flicking his tongue in circles around her clit. He sucked hard and she bucked against him, riding his face. 

She found herself growling  _ fuck _ over and over again, littered with the slightest of praise. “Fuck, your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?”

Geralt groaned against her, and she could hear the wet sounds of him jerking his own cock. She wondered if it was as lovely as Julian boasted. The Witcher’s tongue was more than living up to expectations, after all.

Perhaps another time. From the sound of it, he wouldn’t last long. How delicious – a man who got off fully on her own pleasure. She really would have to thank Julian for the recommendation. And keep in touch with the Witcher.

A flick of his tongue made her thoughts spiral out of control, and she clenched her thighs  _ hard _ around his head. Or tried to. He easily resisted, holding her thighs open for his mouth, and he sucked dedicatedly.

The sensation finally drove Calanthe over the edge and she groaned low and deep, her head thumping back against the wall. She rutted against his face until she was finished, and then slumped the rest of her weight against him, just because she could. Geralt made an unexpectedly high pitched noise against her and came over his fist. He supported her weight the entire time, never letting her drop even the slightest. When he was finished, Calanthe generously let him recover for an entire minute before ordering him to put her down. He did so easily, steadily lowering her until she was on her own feet. His strength truly as enviable – she wondered what other uses she could find for it.

Maybe something would come to her over dinner. After all, she had the whole feast to interrogate him.


	4. Renfri/Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from episode 1 when Renfri joins Geralt at his campsite.

Renfri got the drop on him in a way few people ever have and Geralt would be lying if he said he didn’t find that inticing. She was a fighter through and through, taking advantage of every opening.

She got in under his defenses, pushed him off-balance, and pinned him on the ground before he’d even had a chance to move. Renfri seated herself on his hips, her hands clasping his together over his stomach. It wasn’t a solid hold – gave him too much leverage – but it allowed her to sit like a queen on her throne atop his lap, and Geralt was too shocked to pull away.

And, admittedly, extremely turned on. He’d always had a thing for women that could push him around. Well, really for _anyone_ who could push him around, but that was neither here nor there.

Renfri smirked down at him, as if she knew just by looking at him that she could order him around. 

Well, she was a princess. No doubt she was used to her orders being obeyed. And he wanted to obey her, wanted to please her. She rocked her hips against him, pressing down on the clear line of his cock, hard in his trousers. 

He opened his mouth, feeling like he should say something, but Renfri pressed her hand over his mouth. “Stay still,” she demanded and wiggled against him. As she moved against him, he started to feel the wetness soaking through her trousers. Geralt gasped against her hand, struggling to stay still as the smell of her filled his senses. His hands didn’t move from his stomach, where she’d left them.

“You’re an interesting man, Geralt of Rivia,” she murmured, brushing his hair away from his forehead with her free hand. “So noble, so desperate to do good.”

Geralt tried to shake his head – he wasn’t noble. Unlike her, he _knew_ he was a monster. He just tried to do what he could – but Renfri gripped his jaw tight. Geralt’s breath started coming faster, puffing across the back of her hand and Renfri’s smirk grew. 

Then she knelt up on her knees, pushing her weight against he face, and he couldn’t help the whine that escaped him when she drew away. It was muffled under her hand anyway.

“Get yourself out,” Renfri ordered, and withdrew her hands from his face. Geralt couldn’t help the noise he made at that either and she looked down at him speculatively as she undid her trousers, pushing them down until she could kick them off. Then she lowered herself slowly until wet heat pressed against his bare cock and his hips twitched without his brain telling them to.

She moved her hips with him, staying only close enough so that he could feel her against him as she dragged her folds over his cock, never drawing close enough to let him enter her. Geralt could feel pressure building behind his eyes as he grew more and more desperate, on edge just from her teasing. Humiliating bubbled in his gut as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, but Renfri only brushed her thumb under his eye and brought it to her mouth. 

“So close already,” she purred. “But not yet, I think.”

And then she pulled away entirely, just as he was on the cusp of falling over the edge. It hurt, the sudden lack of stimulation, and more tears escaped him. His frustrated whine was cut off when she shuffled forward and seated herself over his face in a clear demand, uncaring if he could breathe or not.

Geralt opened his mouth, licking through her arousal eagerly. He nuzzled into her so that his nose pressed against her clit, and she ground down against him. He couldn’t breathe around her, but Geralt had always been good at holding his breath and it was hard to care about meaningless things like air when the Princess above him demanded his attention. He thrust his tongue inside her, nudging his nose against her clit at the same time he curled his tongue in a way that had Renfri gasping above him.

“Good,” she murmured between thrusts down against him, “yes, like that,” and Geralt could feel the warmth spreading through his chest at her satisfaction, even as he started to feel lightheaded. He would happily suffocate to please her. The realization made Geralt’s hips twitch and he shuddered at the tickle as precum dripped slowly, teasingly down his cock. The cold air against him and the lack of friction had him using the last of his air to beg against her clit and she rewarded him by coming in waves against his face. 

When she rose and let him gasp for breath, he couldn’t tell the wetness of tears apart from the evidence of her on his face. He sucked at his lower lip, chasing the taste of her. So focused was he on luxuriating in the musky tang against his tongue that he was caught wholly off-guard when Renfri’s cunt sank down on his cock.

His inhale was shaky and he tried so very, very hard not to move. She’d told him not to and he wanted to make her happy, so he wouldn’t move. Even if that meant clenching every muscle he had hard.

“Good boy,” Renfri purred, slowly rising off of him and then dropping back down again. She rode him slowly, so slow that she had him sobbing with desperation, torn between wanting to come and never, ever wanting this moment to end. He was afloat in pleasure, and his mouth parted when she thrust her fingers against his tongue. Geralt moaned, sucking and licking sloppily at the fingers, and Renfri moved them in the same slow tempo as she ground her hips against him. 

Geralt felt like he was losing his mind, spiraling into blankness. His only thought was that he must stay still, because Renfri had told him to.

So he did.

When she came against around him, he nearly fell over the edge, but she pulled off of him again, just in time to strangle his orgasm. Pleasure and pain swirled through him and Geralt cried out brokenly, not aware of whatever pleas emerged from his mouth. Cum dribbled down his cock and before he could even catch his breath, she sank back down on him, squeezing around him.

A hand pressed against his throat, putting pressure against his carotid artery. He was so vulnerable like this, and yet, he felt completely safe here with the princess people called a monster, even as she stole his breath. If that didn’t prove who he believed, nothing could.

Renfri seemed to realize this too, because as his head started to spin, his eyes flicked open to see the wonder on her face. He watched her arch, her face awash with pleasure and to know that he played some part in that – Geralt’s hips bucked and he was so sensitive it almost burned but he never wanted it to stop. Given the way Renfri continued moving against him, chasing a fourth orgasm, she didn’t either. 

“You’re so good,” she whispered, leaning down to press kisses to his cheeks, tasting herself on his skin. Renfri was so wet around him that he could hardly get any friction, but it didn’t matter anyway, because he was hers to use, hers to seek pleasure with and against and any other way she wanted him.

Geralt wasn’t sure later how many times he had come or how high she had driven him with the tantalizing mix of pain and pleasure, but when he slowly started coming back to himself, he was laying in the dirt, cleaned up and tucked back into his trousers. Renfri’s weight and warmth pressed him down into the ground and his lips pulled into a lazy smirk as he realized that she had positioned him precisely so that she could lounge on top of him comfortably.

Content to serve as her furniture, Geralt let himself relax back against his saddlebag perch and let his eyes slide closed. As he felt sleep crawl over him, he knew from how safe he felt that nightmares wouldn’t plague him this time.


End file.
